Love is a flowery wreath,
binding us to the Earth.
Why then,
did I get chains instead?
I wore my pink dress, I felt pretty—
until my own mother called me a slut.
My dear mother, makes my skin crawl
How can I ever escape?
She made me, her blood runs deep inside my veins.
She makes me hate my skin, I wish I could tear it away
I'd try to run, but she hugs me so tight,
I suffocate.
Love is a flowery wreath,
binding us to the Earth.
Why did I get chains instead?
YOU ARE READING
Pocket Full Of Proses.
PoetryHello beautiful people, I am @misscreative_riya, I love to write and to create art in general. I really wish to publish a book some day but I currently do not have the resources. Till then I will keep posting my work online. This is a collection of...
